Our Vicious Cycle
by You.Talk.Of.My.Drinking
Summary: He didn't let up, pounding the door with his fists, screaming. Crawling into the bathtub, I curled in a ball placing my hands over my ears. As I lay in the bathtub, I wondered how we had gotten this messed up.


**Disclaimer: The Characters belong to SM.**

**The plot belongs to me.**

* * *

**_Our Vicious Cycle_**

"Let's have a baby."

It was a gentle request. It wasn't said pleadingly, or demandingly. He said it with longing. He wanted a baby. With me.

I sat up, abruptly, pulling the sheet up around my chest.

"What?" I gasped, staring at him in disbelief. He smiled nervously, placing his hand on my stomach.

"Let's have a baby." He repeated with the same voice. His eyes so gentle and sweet, I wanted to give him what he wanted that second.

I shook my head slowly, gathering the sheet around me as I stood up and bent down to pick up my clothes.

"You knew when you married me I didn't want kids, Edward. I don't want children." I chose my words carefully so as not to hurt him while still getting my point across.

At my words, the little bit of hope I had seen growing in his eyes deflated.

"Or you don't want commitment." The words bubbled out of his mouth resentfully.

I rolled my eyes, pulling my pants on.

"How is_ marriage_ not a commitment?" I bit back bitterly.

He sighed heavily through his nose, flopping back onto the bed angrily.

"It's a commitment you can discard easier than a child, that's for fucking sure!" He yelled his words to the ceiling as I strode to the bathroom, pulling on my tank top.

"A baby won't fix our problems, Edward!" I yelled, slamming the door and locking it. I walked to the sink, picking up a random hairband. I yanked my hair into a ponytail, glaring at myself into the mirror.

"FUCK!" He yelled from our bedroom, followed by a large crash.

"What'd you break this time?" I said, loud enough that he could hear.

It was silent for a minute before he was pounding against the door.

"Let me in!" he roared, shaking the doorknob.

"No _fucking_ way am I letting you in when you're this pissed off." I retorted, backing away from the door.

He slammed his body into the door, making it shake.

"Open it!" He demanded.

I threw my shampoo at the door in response.

He didn't let up, pounding the door with his fists, screaming. Crawling into the bathtub, I curled in a ball placing my hands over my ears.

As I lay in the bathtub, I wondered how we had gotten this fucked up.

We used to be so happy. Everything was perfect when we met. He was the perfect gentlemen, always polite; he opened doors, paid for everything on dates, and walked me to my door not expecting a goodnight kiss.

His proposal was even perfect. We were alone, eating dinner one night when he began to tell me how much he loved me, how special I was to him. Then he got down on one knee and I choked out a tear filled 'yes'. He knew everything about me. He knew I liked corn but hated peas. He knew that I had a bad temper, but was a pushover when it came to sweet talk.

He knew I didn't want children.

_He knew._

And yet, every few months I get the same fucking fight.

Because that's all we do anymore. Fight.

It started out with simple teasing anger over socks left on the floor, or me being a cranky bitch. And it turned into this, angry retorts and bitter insecurities that we didn't talk about; because if I talked about my insecurities, he felt ashamed and hurt and lashed out. And vice versa.

We couldn't talk.

So we fought.

"Bella?" His voice, hoarse from screaming drifted through the doorway at about my level, signaling that he had sat down.

"How'd we get so fucked up?" He asked, defeated.

Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes.

"Maybe it happened when you fucked your secretary." I said, plainly. But the words were full of loathing. Apparently, it was time to let it all out. He didn't know I knew.

"Or maybe it happened when you chose your home wrecker over me." I stated, louder, making sure he heard and that I understood how long they had been sneaking around behind my back.

"Maybe it happened when you went and got high instead of coming to my birthday party that_ your_ fucking family threw for me." Tears fell down my cheeks as I heard him begin to sob on the other side of the door while I laid out his indiscretions for him, hate filled word after hate filled word.

"How could I bring a baby into this, Edward? Tell me, because I wouldn't want a baby to be subjected to this shit." I stated, uncurling from my ball, and standing up.

I walked over to the door and opened it. He fell backwards into the bathroom, looking up at me with tears streaming down his face.

"I ended it, and fired her, months ago." He choked, "I didn't want you to find out."

Rolling my eyes, I stepped over him and walked out of our room calling out a "Too fucking bad," over my shoulder.

Walking into the kitchen I began to pull things out of the fridge for my dinner. I didn't bother making Edward anything because cooking for him always turned into a fight. So I made spaghetti for one person. Chili for one person. Casserole for one person. Every time I had to cook something with only one egg instead of two my heart cracked a little further.

Because it signified how much more alone I was in my marriage.

~O~

Halfway through my dinner, Edward walked down the stairs and sat across from me at the table, staring sadly at my plate and glass of wine.

I ate in silence until I was finished, then pushed it away, folding my hands in front of me.

"I want you to move out." I said into the crushing silence.

He nodded sadly.

"If that's what you want, I'll go." He whispered, reaching over to place his warm hand over mine. Tears sprung to my eyes, because it was the first time in years that he had done something that I wanted. He was doing this for me, indulging _me_ for once.

"Tomorrow." I whispered.

He nodded again, squeezing my hand.

I pulled it away, but we both knew how this would end. He would hold my hand for a little while longer, and then come around to my side of the table where he would wrap me in his arms. And I would let him, because I needed a hug, I needed his warm arms wrapped around like a security blanket that protected and comforted me. Hugging would turn into him pulling me up the stairs and us lying in our bed while he rubbed my back like he used to when we first married. I would start to cry as memories fell over us, heavy like a thick blanket. When I began to cry, he would shush me gently, beginning to kiss my neck as he spoke of my beauty, and just like that I would give in, because I missed the 'us' that we used to be. I missed him being all mine, the perfect man because of his flaws.

We would make love, as I wept in remembrance of our perfect relationship.

Afterwards we would lay there, me in my self-hatred, him comfortable and sated, for only a few minutes before he would say the words that would start the cycle of pain and agony over again. The words that I longed for and hated to hear, because they meant that he was staying, and that no matter what we would be together, despite our poisonous relationship.

"Let's have a baby."


End file.
